


Puppet Master

by jellyfishandtuna



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: After the Fall, BAMF John, Blood and Gore, Character Death, Character Development, Emotional Manipulation, F/F, F/M, Falling In Love, Falling Out of Love, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Pain, Sex, Slow Burn, Violence, Violence Against Toasters, blowjob in an ally, creative ideas, dark sherrinford, dark themes, fluff in certain areas, hand job in a taxi, moriarty turned into a crying mess in the corner, sherlock being a bastard
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-15
Updated: 2014-03-16
Packaged: 2018-01-15 18:57:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,264
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1315687
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jellyfishandtuna/pseuds/jellyfishandtuna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p></p><div class="center">
  <p> "Listen, you little fucking fairy." Sherrinford's voice hummed in his ear. His breathe hot against his skin. "I've spent far too much money and resources on my revenge. My darling brothers think they have the upper hand. Thinking me dead." Holmes moves his knee to a crushing force on Jim's crotch, his hand tightening as the scream catches in the smaller man's throat. "Killing you on this couch will not prevent me from sleeping tonight. You're a cockroach meant to be crushed between my fingers. Do you understand."</p>
</div>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I honestly don't know. Over active mind I suppose.

"Do be quiet." 

It is a demand that is growled through thin pressed lips. Fingers pinching the bridge of a long nose that accented his face perfectly, trying to relieve the building pressure. "I have no interest in hearing the two of you bicker like the little bitches that you are all night!" His voice rose an octave with the yell. "I will even give you my room for the two of you to fuck and get it done with already." The two men sitting across from him fell into silence. "Bloody hell, thank you!" 

There was a soft groan that broke the silence. Shoulders relax as small, manicured fingertips start to massage at his temples. A head is inclined backwards against the back of the chair. Eyes open to most beautiful shade of midnight blue, almost so dark it would make one believe his eyes were nothing more then pupils. "Morons! You're both fucking idiots!" His assistant didn't stop her ministrations. Eyes still glued to those of a pale green as a small smile crossed her ruby red lips. "You and your little madman are costing me more money then you are both worth!" 

The woman rolled her eyes. "It won't help if you don't stop screaming, Sherry." 

Sighing, the eldest Holmes once again closed his eyes. Jasmine was once again right on the mark. Most people he found rather dull and boring. This woman was far from any of that. "Beautiful, isn't she." It was more of a statement (fact) than a question. "A wonderful Egyptian princess with the power to heal." Taking her left hand, bringing it to his lips, brushing knuckles lightly. "Leave, my love." Jasmine nodded and once the door clicked, Sherrinford stood, straightening out his jacket. His 6'4" frame casting a dangerous shadow over his small party. It was enough to even make the ex-marine sink into the sofa. 

Calum Sherrinford Holmes was tall, thin (much like his younger brother Sherlock) and very dangerous. A crown of straight ear length black hair, graying with age. Those dark blue eyes that could deduce you within seconds and a brain that held more information in it than you could ever find on the internet. 

Two sets of brown hues watch him with caution as Holmes made his way to a liquor cabinet. "May I offer you something, gentleman?" Neither one of them spoke. "Pity. It's probably the best you've ever had in your life." Two cubes of ice followed by an amber liquid. The cubes chiming together as he walked back to his chair. Taking a sip before turning to the solider. The other looked like he was trying to eat his knuckles. 

"Moran." The older of the two straighten with being addressed directly. Turn military form. "Yes, sir." 

"Since James insists on eating his hand, please. Do tell me what went wrong?" Like he didn't already know. Sherrinford just wanted to hear one of them say it. Before Sebastian could get the chance, Moriarty chimed in. His thick Irish accent filtering through the room. 

"Your meddling brothers, that's what happened. Not to mention that cursed Lestrade. This is boring and you don't instill fear in ME! Do you know WHO I AM?! 

(Snap.)

Moriarty shut up. 

"You're a failed college professor who has a lust for his own gender. Not that anything is wrong with that mind you. A brilliant man drove insane by his own conscience and too much power, turned criminal because he had nothing better to do. Finds life mundane unless he's playing puppet master." Sherrinford downed the rest of his drink. "And who is currently treading on very... thin... ice." The last three words being drawn out for a reason, hissing with his annoyance. James looked like he would burst into tears. 

"Watson is more loyal then we anticipated." Moran finally spoke in, helping break some of the tension in the room. 

"Glad you finally found your tongue." Holmes snapped at him.

"I didn't fail." Moriarty all but whined the statement. 

"You FAILED! Christ!" The glass is thrown, shattering into pieces behind the sofa. 

Before Jim knew what was happening, a single hand wrapped around his throat. Long fingers wrapping tight and it felt like his wind pipe was being crushed. Those cold blue eyes piercing his brown and he wanted nothing more than to turn to ash. You see the devil in those eyes. 

"Listen, you little fucking fairy." Sherrinford's voice hummed in his ear. His breathe hot against his skin. "I've spent far too much money and resources on my revenge. My darling brothers think they have the upper hand. Thinking me dead." Holmes moves his knee to a crushing force on Jim's crotch, his hand tightening as the scream catches in the smaller man's throat. "Killing you on this couch will not prevent me from sleeping tonight. You're a cockroach meant to be crushed between my fingers. Do you understand?" It was all that Jim could do to nod against the bone crushing grip.

The knee is removed, followed by the hand and it left the consulting criminal gasping for air. Sherrinford acting like nothing had just transpired between them, walking over to the desk that sat in front of two floor to ceiling windows. A button pushed on the phone. "Yes, Mr. Holmes." Jasmine's sweet voice rang through the intercom. "Send her in please." 

James and Sebastian looked at one another. They hadn't been in formed that another would be joining their little meeting. Jim bouncing his knee with nervous energy before Moran placed his hand on the knee. "Calm yourself, damn it." Several moments of un-easy time passed before a woman walked in, closing the door behind her. Sherrinford walking over, bowing and taking her hand into his, placing a gentleman's kiss on her knuckles. 

"Gentleman, I would like to introduce you to Adelinda Gillian Radell. Or as you will come to know her as Mary Elizabeth Morstan." There was a small smile on her lips as Sherrinford lead her to sit in the chair that he'd just occupied moments before. 

"What the hell do we need her for?" 

"So glad that you could join us again, Jim." Sherrinford's voice was laced with acid. "Miss. Radell is going to be our snake in the grass and John Watson's salvation. She's quite clever. Trained assassin who is not only deadly with a gun but can easily kill you with her bare hands."

"Pleasure to meet you both." Her accent wasn't from England. There was a hint of Scottish, American and French in the undertones but Holmes already knew this. "I think I'm in love." Moran chimed in and Jim slapped him in the back of the head. 

"Miss. Radell has a very pleasant history of work if the two of you would like to read up on her. However." He shot a glance to Moran who still seemed to be in a trance by her eyes. Something dark and dangerous that laid behind them. Moriarty rested his chin on his balled fist and pouted. "You're suppose to dead and the other isn't suppose to be known. Which means that it's back into hiding in the basement for both of you." 

"This lot was suppose to take out your brothers. One looks like he's struggling with his inner child and the other so full of pride I'm surprised he doesn't shit bricks." Sherrinford laughed.

"Who says I don't?" Oh that made her smile. 

"Focus please." Holmes placed a file in her hand. "Everything that you need to know about Captain John Hamish Watson. From his past to his future and right now, I must say that the poor man is an absolute mess. Sentiment never looks good on anyone and caring will always be a disadvantage. The downfall of western civilization as we speak. You know what must be done, Ade. Dr. Watson must never find out about your past but you're clever and charming enough to be able to cover. He usually makes a stop at a coffee shop on Oxford Circus. Far to much to pay for one's morning fix but who am I to judge." 

Sherrinford's eyes suddenly became more dark (if that was even possible). "You must get him to trust you. To fall so madly in love with you that when dear Sherlock does return, he doesn't stand a chance. He must marry you. No ifs, ands or buts. You have your ways. He's a broken man at the moment. Needing anything or anyone that will offer him a shoulder to cry on and an ear to listen. Find out the secrets that I know he holds in that simple brain of his." Holmes bent down and kissed her forehead. "And I promise that after all this is over, not even the KGB will be able to find you."


	2. Chapter 2

Dark eyes dart back and forth between several different surveillance cameras. It's to the point of painfully amusing. The object of his undivided attention was none other than his younger brother Mycroft. Talking to his assistant. Eyes cast down to her phone the entire time but holding the conversation. Sherrinford had had the pleasure of chatting to her once. What his brother saw in her he would never understand. Interesting but boring. In his opinion, Mycroft was about as inspiring as watching grass grow even as a small child but it was the information he could provide that was worth millions. 

A cup of tea is placed on the table by a delicate hand. Long slender fingers reach out to wrap gently around a small wrist, turning it over to press his lips over her pulse. Sherrinford Holmes had one weakness, Jasmine. She returned the favor with a kiss on his brow and left as quickly as she arrived.

~~~~~~~~~~

Moran didn't have the best track record for being faithful. In his mind, he was a killing machine with time on his hands and money to burn. Prime of his life and the woman were beautiful and rip for the picking. A tiger help captive for far too long is indeed a dangerous thing. Just because he couldn't leave Holmes' compound, the comfortable imprisonment as he called it, didn't mean he couldn't have his cake and eat it too.

Soft moans drifted through the hall. Jim couldn't help but be drawn to Moran's door and instantly became furious. Sebastian was his and some little tart was going to die today. Safety off and pistol cocked before the door to his room was open and sure enough, there he was. In a chair facing the window, a big busted blonde bouncing on his lap, lost to her own pleasure. 

"Oh yes. Oh god, Seb. Oh fuck me." Skin slapping together in a fast pace. Her hands reaching to grab the back of the chair. "Oh oh oh... fuck yes."

(Bastard!)

(Bang!)

The gun shot echoed in the small space. The bullet hit the blonde right between the eyes. Those blue eyes still filled with lust and shock. Blood oozing slowly from the hole as she fell backwards, leaving Moran exposed. Hands tight around the arms of the chair, knuckles white. 

"Damn it, Jim!" That was all he was able to get out. Standing like a brick wall behind him, pistol still tight in his hand. 

"You're a bastard!" The smaller man yelled. "I trusted you and all I get is THIS! Oh hunny. You are something else. Curse you and your over active sex drive!" I should have killed you when I first met YOU!" 

"So much for that hard on." Moran's voice was filled with too much mirth considering the $1,000 prostitute now laying naked and bleeding in front of him. He never rose from the chair. "Jim, you knew what I was like before you became involved. I warned you that I would hurt you if you fell in love with me." 

"Bastard! Irish scum! I would do the same to you if I didn't love you. Bullet between the eyes and then I would cut your dick off and put it in a jar on my bedside table!" Seething, Moriarty fled from the room. 

"Christ!" Moran's fist slammed on the arm of the chair. 

"He doesn't exists." The hum of Sherrinford's baritone voice filled the room. Two men dressed in black followed, removing the body of the dead woman. Moran did nothing more then chuckle.

"If you can't control him, I will." His tone was dangerous and love. "I can't keep wasting time cleaning dead whores from the carpet." One of the housekeepers walked past him as if on cue. "Moran. I had it on good authority that this wouldn't be a problem." Holmes walked to stand in front of the window, hands clasped behind his back. "And I am almost certain that throwing you back into the third world prison I found you in would indeed break you."

"I'll talk to him. He isn't use to having someone else calling the shots. You intimidate him but he's also very fascinated." 

"Well. I suggest that you do something and soon." Holmes turned, reaching the chair, bending to where he was face to face with the still naked solider. "Because the next time he looses his temper, it will be your tongue I cut out. You don't need to speak to be a sniper." A sudden dull flick to the middle of Moran's forehead and he was once again alone.

~~~~~~~~~~

John Watson made his way to the cafe. Lying to himself about the real reason he came here every morning. The coffee was good but he had a crush on the middle aged woman that checked him out. (God, he sounded like a teenager.) His heart still filled with grief at the loss of Sherlock but deep inside, he knew that if he didn't get over it, he would wither and die.

Mary watched and waited. Waiting for the prefect moment. Bracing herself for the feeling of hot coffee on her chest. John walked with his mobile in hand and... bump. 

"Oh god. I'm... I'm so sorry." Panic filled his eyes as the brown liquid soaked down the front of her white button up blouse. 

"No. It's my fault. I wasn't watching where I was going." The scarf he was wearing now fighting a loosing battle at trying to soak the stain. 

He was nervous. Good. Mary had a bright smile on her face, even if it felt like the skin on her chest was melting. John couldn't help but stare at those sparkling eyes and smile along with her. 

"I'm Mary." An extended hand. He took it after a hesitate moment. (After all... trust issues.) 

"John." His voice was soft but steady and a small smile (the first in weeks) crossed his lips.


	3. Chapter 3

"Have you heard about the lone vigilante? Apparently he's been running rampant around the world taking out the last of James Moriarty's criminal network. I didn't even know there was such a thing." Mycroft gave a grin. "I wouldn't believe everything that you hear or read for that matter. Surely whoever started the rumor is having a laugh." 

A sip of champagne and a glance around the room, Mycroft did hate social events. Most of the people he worked with, he found rather dull. Goldfish as he so often called them. Swimming through life without a cute. "It's exciting to say the least. Finally something to read about other than the normal." The dark haired woman refused to stop talking. Mycroft was getting more and more annoyed with her as the seconds ticked by. Not noticing when his elbow was taken until he was being drug away to the back of the room. 

"Bloody hell. This tie is chocking me." Glancing to see the sale and pepper hair of Gregory as a smile crossed his face. "Oh for Christ sakes, it's one night. Do try to at least act like your enjoying yourself." Greg narrowed his eyes. "Posh, bastard." You know how I hate these little social gatherings and in the six months that we've been together, you've hauled by less then happy ass to three." The older man smiled regardless, taking Mycroft's glass and downing the rest of the golden liquid. "You're a handsome bugger." 

"You're not leaving however the flattery is duly noted." 

Greg looked up in time to see Mycroft's face turn pale. His eyes locked on the tall gentleman that waltzed through the lobby doors like he owned the place. In fact, he did. Along with several other successful establishments around London, all under a false name.

"My?" Greg took his elbow again, trying to follow Mycroft's bewildered stare. Not apparently seeing the same thing. His attention once again focused on his partner. "Mycroft?" Nothing. Lestrade ran his hand down his face. "No more champagne for you. Come on." Dragging the still pale mane with him. 

"Ladies and gentlemen, out guest of honor has finally arrived." A male dressed in a bright blue pastel suit announced over the microphone. "None of this would have been possible if one man hadn't taken a gamble on a struggling artist. Sir Marcus Brighton." An overwhelming amount of applause rang out. Sherrinford did nothing more then tip his glass in the air, a smile from ear to ear. 

Mycroft felt like his feet were stone. Usually so composed with his emotions but here, in this small room, he stood with his thought to be dead brother. "What is wrong with you?" Greg nudged him in the ribs with his elbow, hard. "Just someone I thought was buried." Mycroft's voice was cold. "But apparently the dead walk." He sat the empty glass down and continued moving through the crowd. His eyes deducing everything. It was all part of the plan. He got close enough to small group gathered around the tall gentleman. The same woman bugging Mycroft was bombing the rest of the party goers with her questions and statements. 

"Well, I applaud the person." Taking in that deep baritone voice. God, he looked like their late Father. "Any person willing to take on crime is a hero in my book. If we find the identity of this mysterious vigilante, they should be rewarded with a knighthood." Sherrinford turned his face ever so slightly. Those dark eyes piercing into his younger brothers before he was given a wink. Mycroft was lost. Sherrinford said something and the crowd burst into laughter. 

(He knows. Christ! He knows!)

The question was how?

"Can we go? I can be bored to tears at home and this monkey suit is starting to itch." Gregory's voice broke his concentration. Mycroft just nodded, noting his brothers demeanor before turning. The minute that the pair were in the car, Mycroft was on the phone, calling Anthea. 

"Sir?"

"I need the files on M-13962-B." 

"Sir?" Her voice was confused. 

"Send them!" He snapped. Greg looked at him with concern as the mobile was lowered. The conversation was over. "What am I missing?" Silence. It wasn't until they were almost home that Mycroft spoke. "Someone from my past. A person I never wished to lay eyes on again." 

Greg nodded. "Ex-lover? Yeah, I know all about them."

At that moment, his mobile went off, believing it to be the requested files. No. A text. 

'You haven't changed a day, darling brother. Lost weight. Can't call you Porky anymore. I do believe we need to talk.' - CH

'How did you get this number?' - MH

'I have my ways.' - CH

The phone falls to the seat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short update. The next chapter involves Sherlock. Some flashbacks for John and confessions to Mary.

**Author's Note:**

> Should I continue?


End file.
